


dimensional demesne

by orphan_account



Category: Control (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Drabble, Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror, Sentient house?, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Oldest House throughout the centuries and how it became a House.POV House.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	dimensional demesne

First, there are walls. The walls of a cliff—a shelter from buffeting winds, and then a passage in which attack can only come from what lies ahead and what is left behind (rarely, it comes from above or below, but that risk is not one its visitors think of). 

The Oldest House (but it is not a house yet—not in this dimension, at least) lets the travelers walk through its halls, barren as they are, and it listens. It learns. The passageways become easier to traverse as more footsteps leave trails beaten into the ground, packing dirt into stability, into structure.

Sometimes, the distance between entryway and exit is short, and the visitors pass through without a word. Other times, it goes on, and on, and whispers rise— _panic_ slowly growing in the air. In all languages, the questions are the same. "Can we get out? Are we lost? _Will we die here?_ "

They stumble as they tread through unexplored crevices, the dirt untouched and treacherous to their steps as the Hall leads them through the rock and dirt and hill and narrow and _fear._

This fragment, this barely-born concept, is not a home. Not yet.

They mark the walls, trying to track their passage, and the Hall has a _new_ trapping to add to its repertoire. It thinks it will like these marks, and it adds more and more of them, noticing how the travelers' voices rise as they see its new decorations.

Walls are meant for markings, and it lets them reach sunlight as a sign of its appreciation.

Then it is quiet in the Hall as it experiments with walls, twisting and turning its passages even more so than it did with the last group of travelers, admiring the way that it becomes a _maze._

It learns soon after that ceilings are a thing. A shelter from torrential downpour, a place to hide, and it grows excited with the thought of seeing what its newest guests will think of this.

The Hall is not a home, but it knows its purpose, knows that it _wants—needs_ occupants. 

Their voices grow loud when it brings ceilings to cover them, pressed low so their heads brush against it. It covers the space with soothing markings, content with the way their fingers brush over them. Truly, walls are meant for decoration. And ceilings are meant for protection.

Something new grows in the dark as the travelers murmur amongst themselves—a brightness like the one outside—an old symbol, _light,_ and there is power in that concept—growing in their hands.

They pass it around and their voices grow quieter, faint laughter and hushed noises as they continue walking.

Already, a fair few walk ahead of the group, taking the command. Taking control, and the Tunnel can sense another symbol, older than itself, guiding them.

The Tunnel thinks that it will keep this brightness and borrow a bit of it from the Sun. It's strong enough now that it doesn't need to worry about the symbol overwhelming, overtaking its own. Besides, if it ever grows afraid of the light being too intense, then it can be blocked out.

There are better ways for people to stay within it, and the Tunnel becomes the Cave. People come and go, bringing back _furnishings_ and the Cave stays quiet and still, waiting to see what else they bring.

It _likes_ these decorations and paintings on its walls, on its ceilings, on its floors. It likes learning and growing, becoming ever more complex as the years (another symbol, universal and uncaring) pass.

It has always had these floors, beaten earth and all. The Cave makes sure to keep them steady, keep them even, to make sure there is traction for tired feet. 

The Cave is not a house, but it slowly learns that becoming a home—becoming a home far nicer than being merely a Tunnel or a Hall.

It has not yet learned what a House is, but somewhere outside, somewhere in the world beyond, there are dedicated hands hard at work. People come together under unerring direction, and imagination is made manifest.

Slowly, pieces start to click together, a series of snaps that sends the Cave reeling.

There are people _building._ They work together under the direction of the Council—Leadership— _Board_ (not yet, but one day). 

It can't decide—there are so many options—it loves them _all,_ and they are nothing like the faint impressions that it had before it was gently nudged into this dimension. 

These are _new._

Time passes and it eventually decides on something that has become common. It does not decide on palace or castle, though it does visit and admire—it does not decide on tomb (it's had enough of sheltering below the Earth, growing symbol as it is amongst mankind, one that has _gods_ devoted to it now); it does not pick pyramid or temple either, nor does it pick any devoted to storage (something else has already chosen _Archive,_ and there are more symbols associated with that than it cares for. those are not nice symbols. those are signs, _representations_ that people _fear_ ).

Besides, the pyramid is a structure that the Board soon appropriates—requisitions—claims.

It decides on House, and it realizes that it's always been a House, in a way. 

The Oldest House decides to keep people safe inside, away from their fears, and it still learns. It watches as humanity innovates, as they build higher and higher, and it adapts.

It makes itself a comfort, a respite. And now, it is a symbol that holds ultimate power within its domain.

The Oldest House watches people turn on each other, dragging others out of their houses (weaker, still and quiet, unlike the House) and still it learns. It learns how to make its walls thicker, its halls more confusing, its design more _brutal._

A House is not always a home. A home is not always a House. And the House is often not always a house itself.

It still likes the name of House, but it is a structure at its core. It still likes the noise and inventiveness of humanity, and it watches as their imagination gives power away, as stories become strength and other symbols grow in this world.

The Oldest House is still one of the oldest symbols.

And its walls are strong.

Its walls are strong enough to contain other symbols, it realizes, but it can't pull them into its halls alone.

That sort of task requires a _human_ imagination.

It requires Control.


End file.
